


The Contract

by orphan_account



Series: The Curse of the Black Sun [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-11 08:59:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As much as some people might hope, Yanna is not the imprisoned princess townsfolk talks about. She is indeed quite the contrary. Being born under the Curse of the Black Sun, she's the much cherished experiment of a sorcerer. Besides the visits of her caretaker, Yanna is visited from time to time by hopeful travelers, who have heard the story about the damsel in distress - much to her annoyance.Eventually a certain witcher agrees to fulfill a contract, leading him close to the legendary tower, where things aren't quite like what he had heard about it.





	1. Prologue

## Prologue

 

Every day just like the last one.

 

The sun was shining violently through the single window in Yanna’s little bedchamber. Groaning, the woman pulled her blanket over her face, trying to blank out the glaring light. It was too early. Far too early for her to rise. A little bit more of sleep, that's all she wished for - at least for now. But she knew. If the sun was already that high, her weekly 'visitor' wouldn't take long to arrive.

With a final sigh she pushed the blanket back down, blinking against the sunlight and rubbing the sleep from her face. Yanna stared at the ceiling for a moment, dark thoughts slithering their way up her mind. It felt like the ceiling was coming closer day by day. Soon to crush her with its weight.

The bed groaned beneath her with every movement as the woman robbed to the edge of it. Dirty blonde locks blocked her view while doing so. Tiredly she pushed them aside.

The floor was cold beneath her feet, making her shiver inevitably. She had to hurry with cleaning herself up if she wanted to be done with it when Cyril arrived. The last thing she wanted was being caught by him in a precarious situation.

Pulling her worn nightgown over her head, she tumbled blindfolded over to her dresser with the washbowl on it. After she had thrown the piece of cloth back onto her bed and cleaned her face, she rummaged through the drawers for something to wear.

Fully dressed in a simple long blue skirt and a light blouse, she made her bed and waited. Strange. It either had taken her faster than usual or Cyril was being late. Something that occurred just once in a while and only when he had something _very_ import to attend to – besides her, that is. Looking around the circular room, which serves her as a bedroom, she aimlessly searched for an occupation. Something - anything - to keep her busy until her visitor would arrive. Yet she found nothing of interest. Yanna let herself slump onto her freshly made bed with an exasperated groan.

It peeved her terribly that she was so fixated on him. She used her spare time to wait for him, while she actually hated every minute he’s with her. Yet, she couldn’t do anything when she actually knew, he was soon to arrive. She didn’t want to let him see what she did when he wasn’t present. She didn’t want to give him that additional information about her, as trivial as it may be. He already owned too much of her life.

Minutes passed until she heard the familiar crackle right before the portal appeared in place of the door, which led to the stairwell. The strange orange and black light – or was it a substance? – filled the doorframe. Yanna pushed herself up from the bed just in time as the tall man stepped through the portal, closing it right behind him with a _swish_ as he had emerged completely.

“Yanna, my dear. I see you have awaited my arrival. How quaint.”

He smiled his usual tightlipped smile which never reached his hazel eyes. The blonde woman restrained herself from grimacing at his oily black hair that he had combed back so that it touched only his neck. She had more than once seen a portrayal of the Emperor of Nilfgaard and now that she thought about it, Cyril does look like a cheap replica of him. Even though he was the younger one in appearance, he was the less striking looking one.

“Has the cat caught your tongue? Was that the saying? Well, anyways. We have our duties to attend to, haven’t we?”

That was indeed an odd behavior of his. He was always about small talk. Must be because of his delay. But Yanna didn’t complain. Quite the contrary. She always suffered under his prying eyes and his endless trivial questions about her day. As if anything exciting would ever happen to her.

She sighed imperceptible, yet relieved, and followed him over to the window, where he urged her to sit down on the chair below the window. The usual procedure as every week followed: Cyril took some of Yanna’s blood, felt her pulse and made her drink a disgusting potion of his. Then he asked her ridiculous questions. This was always the fun part. After he had written down her reaction to the potion, he looked her sternly in the eyes, quill in his one hand and paper in his other.

“What would you do if you could save a group of persons, but had to choose between sacrificing yourself and sacrificing another person you don’t like?”

Yanna thought for a moment. Thought honestly about it. There had been many times when she would’ve said the most ‘evil’ option, just to give him something to think. But the other times, she had been honest and gave him the ‘good’ answer, the self-sacrificing ones. But with this question, hm… Decisions, decisions. Her gaze wandered down to her bare feet while her fingers drummed on her crossed legs.

“I’d sacrifice the person I don’t like.”

“I see, I see.” His quill flew over the paper, scratching down whatever ambiguous answer she had given him. With this being done now, it wouldn’t take much longer. If he hasn’t brought an experiment of his, that is. But today seemed to be a lucky day. He was quite rushed in his inspection. Besides his usual requests, he kept quiet. Really odd.

Yanna was watching her caretaker with knitted brows as he packed his things up again into his black leather bag fitting his whole outfit until she couldn’t hold back any longer. He was after all the only company she gets, so why not ask about his delay?

“Why did you arrive this late? Did something happen?” Anything exciting?

His hazel eyes locked with her blue ones, a smirk gracing his face. “Worried, are you?”

No. No, not at all. Just looking for  _something_ interesting for _once_. “It just struck me by surprise, that’s all. You’re never _that_ late.” She pursed her lips, avoiding his eyes.

He straightened his back and looked outside the window, down at the small stream as it looked from her sitting position beside him. His look became distant and Yanna feared he might start one of his endless accounts. But then he smiled down at her, looking like the cat that got the cream. “I have paid heed to your complaint about this wraith you can hear every noon and put an offer on the notice board in town. It didn’t take long to arouse someone’s interest.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first story ever written in English. So, if you see any mistakes, please tell me. Besides I'd really love to hear what you think - negative and positive critique is welcome! Just don't be an ass.  
> Also, this fic doesn't have beta readers, meaning if you're interested in this story and want to help me improve it, shoot me a message!  
> I'm planning this to be the first part of a two-part-series.


	2. Chapter 1

## Chapter 1

 

_Read closely if you're interested in earning good coin and don't fear the supernatural!_

_I, as well as all the inhabitants of this town, am in need of a fearless adventurer who frees us from the ghost roaming the lands close to our cherished home._

_Indeed, a horribly disfigured specter can be seen north west of the fields outside the town. Close to the stream south the tower._

_Everyone willing to fight the wraith - come see me. My house is right beside the blacksmith._

_Cyril aep Craag_

 

Quickly the woman read over the contract Cyril had handed over to her shortly before.

 „Who took the offer?“ Yanna, whose eyebrows had hit her hairline, was curious, yet doubting.

There had been many – so many that she had stopped counting – that took chances like this to prove themselves – as inept, that is. She saw this happening with all those hopeful men, adventurer or passers-by, who had heard her allegedly story. They have heard the story about a princess from a kingdom far away, sometimes it was Nazair or Beauclair, who had been imprisoned by an envious sorceress. Or they have heard about a cursed maiden, who can only be freed by true love’s kiss. And one time, that one was by far her favorite, some man had called up to her to ‘let her hair down’. The man had been shocked, to say the least, when she had showed him her that her hair only touched her shoulders. He had made a vulgar gesture and left.

Cyril leaned against the windowsill as he looked quizzically at his ward. “A vatt'ghern, of course. Do you think I would let any of these cretins from town do this job?“ He clicked his tongue. „What do you think of me?“

Yanna only lifted one of her brows at him. That should be answer enough. But she was intrigued by his choice of ‚employee‘. She had only heard stories about Witchers, as none of them had come close enough to her tower for her to see. She could only hope that she would be able to have a good gawp at this one.

As her interest in this conversation was revived by this tiny detail, the blonde leaned forward in her chair, propping her chin on her hand. “So, what did he look like? Why was he in town? Did he really have two swords on his back like it’s said?” Her blue eyes must’ve twinkled like those of children listening to stories about old heroes. The sorcerer only chuckled huskily.

“Well, well. I didn’t know you take such an interest in these people.” Cyril pushed himself away from the window and brushed some imaginary dust off his black robe. “But sadly, I have to leave. I need to stick to my schedule. Curses don’t break themselves, as you may know.” Without further do, he took his bag, bowed courtly at Yanna and made his usual strange gesture at the doorway. And as per usual the portal returned to bring him back to where he came from.

“Until the next week, my dear.” And with that he was gone, as was the portal.

\-----

\-----

After a rather uneventful day - who would have thought? - Yanna caught herself the next day more than once observing the fields expectantly through her windows, whether it was the one of her bedroom or the one in her kitchen.

Noon had nearly passed, the wraith’s awful howling audibly in the whole tower, and the witcher hadn’t appeared. Slowly Yanna was growing impatient. She wanted to see that man. Also, the unnerving wailing had to stop. She might be safe from harm inside this tower, thanks to Cyril’s spells, but harming her from outside the tower was still possible – not to mention by hurting her ears like the unfortunate soul down yonder.

Groaning, the woman threw her book down onto the bed she was sitting on. She had decided it was best to distract herself from sitting in front of the window like an idiot, which hadn’t been the best idea she had that day. Grappling her hair, she stifled a frustrated cry. Yanna was about to cover her ears with her cushions, as the sounds rose into a bloodcurdling scream. Well, that was new.

Quickly, she scrambled off her bed, her bed sheet getting tangled up with her legs. Roughly, she wiggled her legs free, while she made her way over to her window. Blinking against the sun light, Yanna scanned the fields with her eyes for any sign of the specter. There might be no sign of the ghost, but instead of it circling its usual spot was a man. A living one, luckily. There was a rather big distance between him and Yanna, but as far as she could see he was wearing a red jacket, had dark hair and – thank Melitele – one sword in his hand, while another one was still attached to his back.

“Finally!” Yanna’s face lit up with a smile, excited to see the witcher in action. He moved so… so gracile, yet with so much resemblance to a predator. He was lethal. Suddenly the ghost reappeared to the side of the witcher, the woman caught by surprise at this abrupt occurrence. But the man didn’t seem surprised at all. He quickly made some strange movements with his one hand – Yanna feared for his life, was he mad? – and magical-seeming symbols appeared on the ground around him in a circular shape. The monster didn’t leave much time for Yanna to wonder about them as it attacked the witcher quickly. Or not? It seemed to be a bit slowed down and more physical…

Slashing and slicing through the dead woman’s thin body, the witcher remained relentless. Dodging some of her pretty slow attacks compared to his, he moved so fast, it was hard for Yanna’s eyes to follow. Then, the wraith was gone again with a _poof_. The symbols on the ground were gone as well. But instead of one ghost _five_ reappeared. Oh shit. But this unfair draw didn’t seem to affect the witcher much. He only sidestepped some slashes of the women and left Yanna’s field of vision. Oh no. Nonono. She wanted to see the fight! Hastily, she opened her window and leaned out of it, as far as the spell keeping her inside the tower would allow her to. There he was! Making somersaults. What a sight! Yet, to his defense, there were only two ghosts left. And within a moment even those were gone. While her eyebrows had shot up in surprise, the hair on her arms stood up in anticipation. Every inch of her tingled. The real specter came back with a poof from wherever she had been hiding and screamed at the dark-haired fighter. Again, he generated the circle around himself and sliced through the porous garment. This time, the monster seemed to be slower, maybe even weaker.  The silver swords always found its way into the wrinkled and sunburned skin of the woman, making her cry with every hit. With one last fierce slash, the wraith screeched unhumanly, making Yanna hiss and her skin crawl. Grabbing at nothing and no one in particular the monster was gone. For good this time. Hopefully.

The woman was still staring at the place the wraith had been just a second ago, as the witcher was looking up at his spectator.  Now, that he was so close to the tower, Yanna could see that his face was scarred. But she couldn’t make out any details. It was still a long way down. She felt unsure about herself for the first time this noon. Should she wave? Or should she go back inside? Could she say anything? In her panic, which had quickly arisen, she took the bed sheet that she left at her feet and shook it out. Like the women in her old home town had done every morning. Done with her pretend-cleaning, she nodded shortly at the witcher and closed the window. Yanna stepped some feet away from the window and stood on her tiptoes to see what he did. Seeing nothing for a while she thought he would camp under her window, but after some minutes she saw his figure walking toward the town. Yet he turned back around, something in his hand - a pouch? - seemingly undecided. The blonde awaited what he would do. Would he come back or leave?

He left.

Discontent spread in the woman. She had hoped- well, what did she hope for? That he would free her? Absurd. Yet, she was sad to see him leave.

Maybe, she should’ve said something. What did he think of her? The strange woman in the tower?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Eskel appears! :D I hope I can do him justice..  
> Anyways, the updates to this story will come irregular, heh. But I'll do my best to add chapters as fast as possible. But I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I am :)


	3. Chapter 2

## Chapter 2

 

One day.

One day so boring and slow-paced she thought it would never end. And yet it had. Yanna would’ve lied if she said she wasn’t hoping the witcher would return. Ironically just like the day before, she looked out of the window every time she passed one. But there was no one visiting her tower. No witcher, not even a passer-by. It was really frustrating to be caged inside the tower too far off the near-by town.

The next morning was just as eventful. The sun was shining brightly and the birds were chirping merrily. An actually nice day, besides the loneliness, that is. The woman turned in her bed, which was protesting with croaking in return. It must’ve been after sunrise for some time now.

Yanna stared at the wall facing her bed. Her tired eyes lost their veil of sleep slowly and her hand found its way from under the blanket to a stray curl of her hair, twisting and turning it tiredly. She sighed heavily. A _tick_ was audible. Some clicking sound. Yanna thought nothing about it and kept staring at her crème-colored wall. Another _tick_ sounded. And then another. Languidly she turned over and flipped her blanket off her body. The sudden cold left her body with goose bumps. She groaned extensively and lurched over to the window. Who – or what – bugged her so early in the morning? She glanced out, searching the ground for any sign of a visitor, but couldn’t see anything. Maybe a bird was pecking against the window in hopes of finding something to munch on? The blonde shrugged and turned around, ready to dive back into her cozy bed, when another _tick_ sounded.  She stopped dead in her tracks and moved slowly around. No bird. Slowly she emerged the windowpane again. But this time she opened it and leaned out to see _who_ was throwing things at the glass. And there – a man.

Tall, bulky and with dark hair, which adorned not just his head, but also his chin. And he quickly let whatever he was tossing up go. Yanna couldn’t make out much more about him. Just that he wasn’t the witcher. Sadly.

“Yes?” It sounded more like a sigh than a question when the woman spoke.

“Finally! My lady has emerged!” He seemed to straighten his clothes and cleared his throat audibly. Then he got down on one knee and put one hand over his chest, while the other one was stretched out to her. It was quite the sight. Knowing what would follow, Yanna pulled the chair closer and sat down.

“My fair lady, I have come to save you from whatever evil power has trapped you inside this tower! Do not fret, no one will ever hurt you again when we are united. Nothing can stop me to prove my love and will.”

Propping her chin on her hand, Yanna shouted back down: “And how do you plan to get me out of here?”

“Your voice is just as beautiful as your looks. But don’t you think too much about that. Your freedom is close.”

“Ah.” She twisted a hair strand with her other hand and waited.

Her ‘savior’ got back onto his feet and moved over to the overgrown door. The woman had to lean out pretty far to see him. With a sword, she hadn’t noticed until now, he cut the vines and freed the door from its green coat. Then he tried to twist the handle. Without success. Yanna rolled her eyes. After some more tries he began to throw himself against the massive wood. Again – without success. He stepped away from the door, looking up at her again.

“It seems like your prison is well guarded.” Yes, by a door. What horrendous guardian. “You do not have some kind of a rope up there, do you?”

Yanna refrained from palming her face with her hand. She glanced inside her room, looking longingly at her disheveled bed, and then back down. “I’m afraid I’ve nothing of that sort.”

“Then, I’ll –“, he looked lost, “I’ll climb.”

Oh dear Melitele.

“No! No.” She laughed awkwardly. “Nonono. You don’t need to. I’ll look for another way to leave the tower. You just stay down there. On both of your feet. No need to break your neck.”

The last thing she wanted was to have a lovesick fool in her chambers. Because the problem wasn’t getting up, it was getting them down again. Because _she_ wasn’t leaving. She couldn’t. If she could, she would have left this shithole years ago.

But Sir Knightly down there was only laughing at her. “Oh, love. You make me happy. Don’t you worry so much about me. I’ll be up there in no time and you can thank me with a kiss.”

Ugh. A grimace adorned her face. A kiss would be the last thing she would plant on his face. A fist – yes. What could she do to get rid of him? He was starting to become a problem. Cyril hated it when men would come to the tower – not that there was ever a lover or something like that. The sorcerer just didn’t like it when there were others getting close to his ward.

Frustrated she rubbed her face. Think. Think. Think. “Hey! Maybe- … Maybe you could return tomorrow again? I’ll see to it that I can create a rope out of my clothes and bed sheets. So that you can stay down there, safely.” She tried to smile down hopefully, but it might have ended up pretty forced. Not that the man would’ve noticed.

“But will you make it? Spending another day in your suffocating prison?”

“Yes, I’m sure I’ll make it.”

He bowed deeply. “Then I will see you tomorrow. Until then, my love. Dream of me in your sleep.”

He slowly moved away from the tower, still facing her – nearly stumbling over a bump in the ground – before he ran back to town. Yanna made sure he was not coming back, before she sunk down on the sill, sighing loudly. She had to think of _something_ to get rid of him for good this time. She was all about to get up again and close the window, heading back to bed, when she heard an unfamiliar voice.

“And what will you tell him tomorrow?”

Curiously the woman lifted her head and eyed the ground below. And there he stood. The witcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate myself for that cut, but I couldn't resist. I really, really hope I will stay in character with Eskel.


	4. Chapter 3

## Chapter 3

 

“I haven’t thought about that yet. Any suggestions?” Yanna shrugged, clearly for the witcher down at the foot of the tower to see.

She might be acting indifferently, but she was full of joy to see him again. But, to be honest, she didn’t quite know what to do with him now, down there. He was undeniable a wonderful change to her dull day-to-day life. But he was also a chance. A chance she _had_ to use. Otherwise she would regret it terribly. But first things first: She needed to get him to talk to her.

“Heard strange things about you. Stories always change. Care to tell me the truth about you?” The man crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Well, that was certainly the most straight forward question she’s been asked. And it’s a very good one. Yanna stifled a laugh. Finally a man who cared to ask _about_ her, not _for_ her.

“This, my dear witcher, is the right question. Why don’t you come up and we can chat a bit? I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” She leaned forward on her chair and cupped her chin in her hand, rising a brow in anticipation. She knew it was a risky thing to ask a man, and in this case a witcher, into her tower, but she had really nothing to lose. At least it felt that way – must be a token of her curse.

“My medallion is vibrating heavily. The tower – or what lies within – is full of magic. That true? How will I know it’s no trap?”

“It’s no trap. Not for you, at least. Don’t worry. You can come and go as you like. Nothing will happen to you when you come up.”

“Right. Door’s closed.” He seemed to sigh and shake his head, but Yanna couldn’t tell for sure. He tightened the belt of his swords around his shoulders and stepped closer to the tower – leaving the woman’s sight. She leaned even further out the window to gain sight of him again. He looked up at her and she gave him a thumbs-up. She won’t tell him that nobody ever tried to climb the wall up. It would only generate the wrong picture of her. He’d do it. He was a witcher after all.

He placed one hand on a protruding stone and the other on the doorframe. Then he pushed himself up, so his foot was placed on the door-handle. He proceeded with the climbing, while Yanna realized she was still wearing her thin nightgown. Frowning she estimated the time he might need and decided to quickly through herself into a dress – not to impress, only to cover up what needed to be covered up.

While she was halfheartedly combing her hand with her fingers, she heard heavy breathing from her open window. Scurrying over, she arrived right on time to pull him up by his arm. Pulling with her whole weight, she was taken by surprise when she lost her footing and fell on her backside with an _oof_. The witcher, stumbling into the room, quickly regained his balance and massaged the arm she had pulled. But after this tiny moment, he offered her his hand, which she gratefully took, and helped her up.

“Now, I think you wanted to tell me something.” He crossed his arms again and looked sternly at Yanna. The woman, on the other hand, looked with awe at the man in front of her. He was tall, nearly two heads taller than her, and he looked like he was hiding a good amount of muscles under his clothes. His face – well, Yanna could tell that he was a man of the hunt. The right side of his face was heavily scarred, and his eyes were as it was told in the stories: the golden eyes of a cat. They reflected the sunlight beautifully. All in all, he was pretty attractive, but Yanna might have a special taste for men. He must’ve felt her looks, because he cleared his throat and shifted his weight onto his other leg. Visibly uncomfortable.

Feeling awkward, Yanna pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and gazed down at her feet. “Riiight. I said so, didn’t I? Well, since you’re a witcher you’ve probably heard about the ‘Curse of the Black Sun’? Yes?  Well, you’ve got one of its victims in front of you.” She didn’t look up, his feet were suddenly more interesting than his face. But there was a stillness, something that she could feel, that wasn’t right. If telling someone you’re cursed, would ever feel right. Ha. Carefully, Yanna looked up, but she was only greeted with a stony mask on the man’s face. But it appeared like something was going on inside of him.

“I take it you know what I’m talking about?” He nodded briefly, but kept quiet. The blonde took it as a sign to continue. “I was taken by a sorcerer named Cyril – you’ve met him. He was the one who has hired you to kill the wraith.” She pointed to the window. “I was around twelve when he found me. We traveled around for a while, never finding a fitting place to stay. But after three years or so, he found out about this tower and - well - here we are. I’m sitting inside this tower for… for fourteen years.” Saying out loud how long she was Cyril’s experiment was … depressing. Having to admit to herself that she was imprisoned for over a decade struck a nerve, to put it mildly.

A lump was forming in her throat, but she continued since nothing like an answer or reaction came from the dark-haired witcher. “The stories and rumors you’ve heard, they started as soon as I moved in. My light has probably woken folks interest and they saw me while investigating the tower. I’m neither a princess nor a damsel. But I am certainly cursed and in distress.” She managed to shoot him a small smile, even though she did not feel like smiling at all. Giving him that teeny tiny piece of herself so easily, made her realize how lonely she was. She moved over to her bed and slumped down onto it, wringing her hands.

“Now, that you know, is your interest in me stilled? Or do you still have burning questions?”

He stayed where he was, looking her up and down. Not in a lusting way - he didn't seem the type for that -, more like he was pondering if he could trust her words. After a moment he looked her in the eyes. “Just two for now: What’s your name and what do you want from me?”

A sad smile entered her face. “My name’s Yanna and I want you to free me from this personal hell of mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might be updating the story more than once for the next to weeks due to the holidays.  
> And for those who're wondering, when this is taking place: I'm imagining it before Eskel returns to Kaer Morhen and before he hunts down the katakan. Which is leading me to a question for you my dear readers: In my plans for the two parts I didn't include this hunt actively, so would you want me to write it or just skip it and mention it only in the second part of this story? I'd love to read your comments!


	5. Chapter 4

## Chapter 4

“Alright, Yanna. Got any idea how I should do that?” The witcher looked quite grimly with his arms crossed over his chest. But he had a point. One that Yanna herself couldn’t really deny.

“Well, I was hoping that you’ve got an idea regarding that. I mean – you’ve met Cyril aep Craag. Did he say something about me? Did you ask him? How did you learn about the many tales about me anyways?” She knew that these were a lot of questions. But she needed the answers. They had to work together, her and – “Besides, what is your name. If I may ask?”

“Eskel. And I asked him about you. Didn’t take the question well. Was more defensive about the tower. The townsfolk I asked were more talkative. Told me every single tale they knew about you and your home-”

“This isn’t a home.” Yanna grimaced. “This is a prison. A magical trap.”

“Tell me about it. Could use some insight.” Eskel waved his hand at her, dismissing her distaste for his choice of words completely.

Yanna sighed annoyed and shrugged, muttering as if she had learned the facts by heart – which she basically had: “The tower is surrounded by a magical barrier, which prevents me from leaving. I can neither leave through the door downstairs – it lacks a doorhandle, besides it’s magically locked -  nor can I climb down. Because this is where the barrier becomes effective.”

“How?”

“It’s like - hm, let me think – how do I put this… It’s like I am swathed in some kind of invisible net. I can’t move, except back inside. I’ve tried everything. No use.”

“Hm. How often do you get visits?”

“Normally none. Except Cyril’s weekly visit.”

“None? Then how do you get the fresh water in your sink? Your food and clean clothes?”

“Magic. Every morning when I wake up, there’s fresh water in my sink. Downstairs, in the kitchen, is a basket full of ingredients for cooking, as well as two pitchers with drinkable water. The clothes lie clean on my commode.”

Eskel nodded his head and was silent for a moment. As if he was sifting the facts. Then he must’ve found something missing, because he asked her: “How does Cyril arrive? Through a portal?”

The woman nodded and answered, before he could continue: “He closes it right behind him. There is no chance I could outrun him and flee through it.”

The witcher nodded again, returning to brooding. Silently Yanna waited, wringing her hands nervously. She wanted his help. But the more he asked - the more she told him - she got the feeling it was impossible to free her. Her hands were cramping, when the man started talking.

“I’ve known someone. Someone like you-“

“Like me?” Yanna looked incredulous at the man in front of her. “You mean, a Child of the Black Sun?” She raised a brow at him. Silly, how everyone acted about this so called curse.

“Yes, a curse victim. She -… She had an aura that made it impossible to cast spells around her. Not even signs. No kind of magic worked around her. Another curse victim was immune to magic. No spell worked on her. You might just as well have some kind of immunity to magic. Maybe you’re just not as … trained as them.”

“Yeah, well. Being stuck inside this tower doesn’t do much for my training. All I get to do is drink horrid potions and answer stupid questions to help Cyril analyze this stupid Curse. And for what? He hasn’t learned anything! In all those years he has neither found out if I had an immunity, as you put it, nor any way to break the Curse.” She has thrown her arms up in rage, her face burning with heat for the same reason. This was bollocks. Her whole life was bollocks.

“Maybe he hasn’t told you.”

“Pah. Then why does he continue his experiments?”

Eskel shifted his weight onto his other leg, arms still crossed. His grim look met her furious one. They stared at each other for a bit, until Yanna blinked her anger away. Her belly began to rumble – she hadn’t eaten anything yet and it was after midday. She sighed and got on her feet, slowly crossing the room to open the door to the staircase. “I’m going to make me something to eat. Do you want some too?” She offered him an appeasable smile – even though she hadn’t been angry at him.

He lifted his hand, negating, yet followed her. “No, thanks. But I’ll come with you. Need some more information.”

“Alright. Ask away.” They went down the stairs, the tiny windows – or more like crevices – lighted the stairwell only a little. The woman opened the heavy kitchen door and examined the basket, while the witcher seemed intrigued by it as well – maybe with other intentions. Cheese, bread, tomatoes, eggs, honey and lots of more stuff were in there. But Yanna only grabbed the bread, the cheese and the tomatoes for a quick breakfast, or was it lunch? Anyways, while she ate, Eskel looked around the kitchen, he didn’t even pay her a glance. It was like he was completely sunk into his thoughts, but with a lot of alertness. Probably a witcher thing. She watched him curiously, while biting heartily into her bread.

“What exactly are you looking for? Any bread crumbs under the sill?” Yanna looked amused at the witcher, who was currently kneeling under the window, wiping something from the floor. He looked up, clearly miles away with his thoughts.

“Huh? No, no. It’s just… The dust **and** the bread crumbs,” he looked at her, slight amusement in this glance, “are charged. Like they’re gravitated to something behind the wall. Must be the barrier’s doing.”

“Probably. What of it?”

“Nothing. Just interesting.” He stood back up in his full height – Yanna was still amazed by it – and brushed the dust off his trousers. “Eaten up?” He nodded at her leftovers.

“Yes. Now, what did you want to know? You didn’t continue.”

He suddenly looked …embarrassed, if you could say so. The witcher didn’t really sparkle with emotions. But something in his demeanor had changes. “I need to ask this. Just to be sure.”

“Go ahead.” She waved his hand at him, signaling him to continue.

“Have you hurt someone? Were ever so angry with no reason, you just went crazy? Killed someone?”

Yanna looked at him dumbfounded. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. Then she laughed. Laughed loudly, until he cleared his throat. When she had regained her composure, she wiped a tear from her eye. “If I have killed someone, went crazy… Pfft. No. Not once. I know what the usual characteristics of a Child of the Black Sun are. As I told you – I was a young girl when Cyril isolated me.”

“Doesn’t make it impossible.” Again, Yanna raised a brow at him, pursing her lips. He looked so sure about it.

“Well, I didn’t kill anyone. But I was angry, quite often. Perhaps for some people without reason, but for me, there was always a reason to be furious. But even then, I didn’t hurt people. I ate it up. I wasn’t in the position to get the anger out of my system.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel looked warily at her, walking over to the chair opposite hers and sitting down, the table with the basket and the pitchers between them.

Sighing, Yanna shoved some crumbles away. Maybe it would help her, if she told him her story. If not for her rescue, maybe for his understanding of her version of the curse.

“We lived in a small duchy. -“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yanna's story will continue in the next chapter :D  
> The second part will be kind of a retelling of the Kaer Morhen part in the Witcher 3 game. Some stuff will be the same, some will be different, some will be new.  
> I really hope you still enjoy this story!


	6. Chapter 5

## Chapter 5

 

“My parents would’ve never forgiven me if I’d let my anger show. Since they had already given so much to hide my Curse. Only nurses and the physician knew my true birthday, the rest of the castle and the whole country thought I was born on the day after the eclipse.” Yanna’s eyes lingered on his hands which laid folded on the table.

“Why have you been angry?” His fingers tightened around each other.

“This and that. About simple injustices, like having to keep in my rooms, not being allowed to attend festivities. But sometimes I was angry about everything – no, wait. I was angry about how my parents treated me. How they talked about me behind my back. The knowing glances of the physician when I was not feeling well. The gossip of the nurses. How they tried to handle me with kid gloves, while at the same time, tried to isolate me from the whole world.”

“What kind of things did they do?” Eskel had begun to massage his wrist.

“They always found a way to make it reasonable that I couldn’t get my will. So that I would be foolish to be angry at them. But I needed to be angry. It was eating me up. When they felt I was becoming furious, they would only lock me up. Hide my feelings. I wasn’t allowed to make friends, since I could never meet anyone. They never talked to me like they loved me, like the daughter I was. I was more of an unwanted ward.” Yanna paused. Her throat was dry. “They were scared. Of me.”

The witcher on the other side of the table kept quiet. His hands had stopped to move and he was completely still. The woman sighed, she had stopped to cry about this many years ago. She looked up, even though she didn’t feel like it. She must’ve looked morose.

But instead of making a remark about her nagging, he looked sympathetically at her. He even mumbled: “Sorry about that. I know how it’s like being feared and unwanted.” Yanna felt stupid. Of course. Of all the people she could’ve whined in front of she chose a witcher. A man who was accused of being a monster, a mutant, an outcast. She sunk in her chair, looking apologetically at Eskel.

“I didn’t want to- Sorry. Of course you know.” She looked back down, at her own hands this time. She sensed his movement and after a second, she felt his hand on her shoulder, patting it kind of awkwardly – but it was appreciated. Smiling sadly, she looked in his golden eyes. How beautiful they were. He removed his hand after lingering on her scrawny shoulder for a bit longer than necessary, ripping Yanna out of her trance.

“How did Cyril find you exactly?” He asked quietly, but he refused to look in her eyes again. Strange.

Breathing deeply, the blonde answered: “I don’t know the details, but one day my father camt to my room, accompanied by Cyril. They knocked and I opened. I remember the unsure look on my father’s face. The two men entered and Cyril approached me. He had looked so pleased and asked me to confirm my date of birth. Then he returned to my father and talked softly to him. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the next thing I remember is that my father fetched a servant to pack my things up, while I was standing there like a fool, wondering what the hell was going on. No one cared to elaborate their plans to me. And when everything was cut and dried - Cyril had handed my father a big chest -  _Cyril_  – not my father – told me I was to go with him. Right this instant. And so I did, because I couldn’t spend another minute with that backstabber.”

“What about your mother?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t seen her. But she must’ve accepted the fact that she was selling her daughter, since she didn’t try to prevent my departure. And after I left, I never got a message from her or my father.” The wrath she had collected over the years began to build up in her. She was so angry with her parents, with the village elder. How they sold her. She was angry at herself, because in the early years with Cyril she had been thankful that he had taken her. She clenched her fists and bit on her tongue. Her body was hot with rage and she wanted to – ugh. Hit something or someone. She only wanted to get it out of her system.

The witcher, who was watching her warily, suddenly offered her a hipflask. “What is that?” “Vodka. Might help.” Yanna eyed it, but took a sip nonetheless. Then she shook her head along with half of her body and coughed, whereas Eskel only laughed about her - short, but definitely amused. But it tasted horrible! “Ugh. Thank you.” She gave the flask back. It had worked. She wasn’t thinking about her parents anymore, but about the burning in her throat.

“Now. What do we do?” Hopefully the witcher had an idea, because Yanna certainly had none.

He was silent for a moment, obviously thinking, and then he spoke slowly, as if he still wasn’t sure. “Either we manage to break down the magical barrier or we persuade the sorcerer to let you go.”

“He would rather die than let me go.”

“That would also be an option.”

“You’re willing to kill him? I thought I was the cursed one.”

Eskel only huffed as an answer. But he was right. The spell he had put on the tower might vanish when the magician died. He gave it its power, after all. Downcast about their lacking possibilities, Yanna studied the wood grain of the table.

“Howsoever, we – I – need to talk to the sorcerer. When is he coming to visit you again?”

Yanna counted the days backwards. “In four days. But you can’t be here. Cyril will be furious if he sees you – or any other person. He doesn’t like it when people come by the tower. What do you think he’ll do when he sees you  _inside_?”

And as if she had summoned him by her talks, Yanna could hear the crackle of the portal above, for the kitchen door was still open. The panic made her heart race. “Shit. What is he doing here?!” Hastily she stood up, nearly kicking her chair over. She ushered the witcher to get on his feet and shushed him over to the window.

“Yanna!” Cyril shouted from above. He sounded angry. What  _was_  he doing here?

Eskel visibly didn’t want to leave, he tried to move past her, put Yanna grabbed his waist and shoved him over to the window.

“Yanna!” He became impatient.

“Coming!” Yanna shouted back. He couldn’t come downstairs or she and the witcher would be in trouble. “Now, go. Go!” She opened the kitchen window. “Climb down. But keep to the wall. He can’t see you there.”

“I will not go. Why is he here?” Eskel tried to escape her grasp, but she had clinged to his coat. She had pinned him to the window. They were so close, that Yanna could smell Eskel - he smelled of sweat, earth and leather. But he stood right in front of the window. Perfect to shove him through.

“I’m sorry.” She said, tilting her head back to look in his eyes, before she shove, hardly with all her weight. Somehow she had taken him by surprise, since she stumbled backwards, and lost his footing. He tried to grab the frame, but failed and the next thing Yanna heard, beside a surprised sound was the sound of Eskel falling into one of the bushes below. Thank Melitele he didn’t hit the ground.

Rushed and breathless, Yanna ran upstairs, hoping Cyril didn’t notice anything in his anger about whatever. And there he stood, arms crossed behind his back, foot tapping on the ground, the usual serious countenance. He looked like a disapproving father. “I’m sorry. I was making me lunch.” He eyed her distrusting and shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter.” She waited patiently for him to continue. Surely he would explain to her what he wanted. “Surely you ask yourself what I am doing here, Yanna.” She nodded courtly, he dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “I’ve come to hear one of the townspeople – a disgusting bear of a man – boasting that he’ll leave with the ‘beautiful lady in the damned tower’ tomorrow and that said lady was head over heels for him.” Yanna cursed herself and that man. What an idiot.

“I-“

“Ah ah ah. I don’t want to hear anything. What I want is that you keep to yourself. Don’t talk to anyone beside me. You do not open your window if anyone stands below. You keep away from them. Understood?” He had stepped closer, pointing his finger at her. Yanna eyed it hatefully, but kept quiet and nodded. “Good. This peasant won’t bother you again. I took care of that.”

The woman looked him sternly in the brown eyes. Whatever it was he had done, it would surely keep the man away. Cyril was no one to joke with.

“Now. Go back to what you did and do keep my words in mind. Next time, you’ll be in more trouble. I am done with your escapades, girl.” Another point with his finger, then he conjured his portal and left. Not looking back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to mend a bit, but here is the chapter back.


End file.
